The doors swung shut in front of me then, and I dropped my head into my hands, my shoulders heaving. I wanted Gunnar here with me.
Oh, God. Gunnar.
He was supposed to come by the house. I’d forgotten entirely…
I looked around. I didn’t have my phone or my house keys. Nothing. My mother was stable for the moment, but I…
I was alone.
Chapter 26
Gunnar
The conference room reeked of stale coffee and desperation. I jabbed my finger at the trade proposal sent over by my least-favorite team—the one who’d hired Leon, Karl’s former head coach, as their offensive coordinator. This was probably because Lars, Karl’s former teammate and the one I was certain had battered my brother, was now their GM. Once again, the leadership had proved to be rancid, self-indulgent, and irritating as fuck. Seemed perfect for Jeff, though that wasn’t the outcome I wanted.
“You want me to gut my defense for a forward who can’t stay out of penalty boxes?” I asked. “Are we playing hockey or Mortal Kombat?”
Lars leaned back, arms crossed. “He’s got grit.”
I scoffed. “Grit doesn’t win Cups. Strategy does.” My phone buzzed in my pocket—Zaila’s dinner reminder. I silenced it. Again.
Fuck. This was taking too long.
“Or…you can give us your rookie,” Lars said. “The one we wanted, but you took first to be an ass.”
Ah, here we go. I set my elbows on the table. We’d arrived at the real reason for this meeting. Lars wanted Jeff, which was why we’d picked him up in the first place—why I’d insisted on drafting him despite the red flags. Anything to fuck with Lars Erickson and the coach who had cost my brother his life.
At least Jeff had tempered his public drinking now, and his numbers were improving when he played. But that wasn’t often because he still wasn’t gelling with the rest of the team.
Anyway, much as I wanted the asshat gone, I didn’t want to give him to Lars.
Plus, Jeff had turned into a dark horse with the fans. He was flashy and social media savvy. He got the college kids to fork over money for merch and tickets, but that didn’t mean I liked him or thought he was worth keeping around. I didn’t. Despite his business acumen, he acted like an entitled brat.
Three hours into this meeting I hadn’t wanted to take, the asshole wouldn’t give up, though his deal remained like a bad pass. But at least I’d confirmed what I’d suspected: he wanted me to hand over the kid and one of my veterans so he could rebuild his team around Jeff.
At this point, I could be persuaded to release Jeff to Lars, but not my veterans. They’d been loyal, committed to the team and what we were building here. They were essential. “Neither Cruz nor Maxim Dolov are options,” I told him. “And I don’t make those decisions without my GM and coaching staff, seeing how such choices impact them, more than me.” Granted, I’d made sure Silas and Pete, my general manager, were unavailable tonight because I preferred to weed out the bullshit first, only bringing in management when there was something worthwhile to discuss.
When I finally clicked off the video call, telling him not to reach out again unless he had an offer for Jeff and Jeff alone, I noted that the text I’d sent to Zaila earlier hadn’t been read.
I frowned. That was odd. I glanced at the time. After ten. I scrubbed my hands down my face. I was hungry, angry, and, now, worried about Zaila and her mother. I lurched up from my desk, making sure I had my phone, keys, and wallet as I headed out the door to the parking garage. I called Zaila, a bit concerned I might wake her, but she didn’t answer, which ratcheted up my concern.
When I arrived, her house was too quiet. No lights on. No answer at the door, which had my palms sweating. There was a spare key hidden under the garden gnome her mom had named Sir Squeaks-a-Lot, but I didn’t need to use it because the side door was open. Zaila’s keys were on the table when I entered the kitchen. The living room smelled of lavender and fear. Zaila’s phone lay on the coffee table, her handbag on the floor next to the couch. A half-knitted scarf—Susan’s latest project—was draped over the armrest. Tic Tacs dotted the floor, along with some plastic wrappings that appeared to be from medical interventions.
My stomach dropped as I rushed toward the front of the house.
“Zaila?” My voice cracked as I headed up the stairs to her room. I hurried back to the living room and picked up Zaila’s phone, but it was password protected, and I didn’t have that. I tucked it into my pocket and looked around. Grabbing Zaila’s purse, I carried it to the kitchen. I found a couple of apples, crackers, and a block of cheese that I tossed inside. I switched off the light and locked the door before heading back to my car. It was getting close to midnight now.
“An ambulance came by about six fifteen,” a voice to my right piped up. I turned and noted the slight form of a woman in a bright orange polyester housecoat. She had more wrinkles than anyone I’d ever seen, with wispy white hair and sharp brown eyes.
“Zaila or her mom?” I asked.
“Susan. We’d all been put on alert to check in on her. She didn’t want to worry Zaila and have that sweet girl quit her big career. But Susan’s been feeling right poorly.”
“Are they at M.D. Anderson?” I asked. I’d told Zaila I’d make sure her mother got the best care there.
The old woman shrugged. “Dunno about that. Just that Zaila looked terrified when she climbed into the ambulance, and Susan wasn’t doing too good. Just lying there.”
“Thanks for the information,” I said.
